The Creation of Hollow Men
by DarkIceAngelFlare
Summary: Gideon and Fabian Prewett's deaths were not at the hands of the Death Eaters. It was a long, drawn out process, or so the brothers would have claimed. Molly had mourned them for years until their death, and begins the process anew when war rolls around again. Written for the Last Man Standing Competition, Team Gryffindor. Inspired by T.S. Eliot's 'The Hollow Men'


**Last Man Standing Competition, Round One. Gryffindor prompt: Write about the deaths of Fabian and Gideon Prewett using T.S. Eliot's _The Hollow_ Men as inspiration.**

**Pick a Card Challenge. King of Clubs: Write about blind faith.**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: The centralized words in italics are from 'The Hollow Men' and they belong to T.S. Eliot.<strong>

* * *

><p><em>We are the hollow men<em>

Gideon wondered when he had stopped feeling. When did killing become so easy? His parents had gifted him with a wand, but all that fell from it were curses. Did Hogwarts train them to be soldiers without an army or cause to fight for? Was Voldemort just the filled-in villain of a cardboard cut-out that was eternally in use?

_We are the stuffed men_

Sometimes, Fabian felt like he was just playing a part, fulfilling a caricature. He had joined this war with the hopes of doing something worthwhile, of _saving_ lives, but all he had done was take them. Again and again, he cut through life threads like the Reaper himself, his dreams filling up with the rows of blank tombstones he had created.

_Our dried voices, when__  
>We whisper together<br>Are quiet and meaningless_

How many times had the two brothers spoken of this matter? To themselves and to others, before Order meetings and after them, during battles and at funerals held after them. Always, they spoke of the emptiness of life and death; had looked at the leaders of both sides and wondered at the similarities; had despaired at the endless toil of the war; had scoffed at the ideals of "Greater Good", "Bloody Purity" and "Love".

Then Dumbledore would sweep in and give them an inspiring speech. For a few moments, all their doubts would disappear and they could breathe again. Life, happiness, love… all such things seemed possible again.

Then they would fight and a body would fall and again they would talk. But their words brought no change, made even less of a difference than their wands.

_Shape without form, shade without colour,__  
>Paralysed force, gesture without motion;<em>

They were merely existing now, and had been at it for so long that they forgot what it was like to laugh meaningfully. They saw it in Molly's eyes, in her despair at their fading vivacity, in her forced cheer and sudden mothering outbursts whenever they visited. Her eyes accused them of leaving her behind, of being aliens in her siblings' bodies but they could not help it.

This war had stolen so much of them, long before they were directly involved.

_Those who have crossed__  
>With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom<br>Remember us—if at all_

Sometimes, their sister pulled the parent card. "What would mother say if she could see you now?" she would demand, hands on her hips, and they would look at her with blank eyes.

How could they know? Their parents had tried so hard to stay away from the fight, and two empty graves were their reward. Gideon and Fabian had taken on the mantle of the protectors, the providers, the fighters… They were no longer the rosy-cheeked pranksters beloved by all.

If Heaven existed, would their parents recognise them now? Would they care?

_—not as lost__  
>Violent souls, but only<br>As the hollow men  
>The stuffed men.<em>

They had sent many souls into the afterlife. Gideon wondered if they hated him. Fabian wondered if their parents would listen to their hatred. One doubted, the other did not.

Death was the end. Who could not hate the one who had sent them there?

Molly had tried to tell them differently.

"It's not your fault."

_My wand, my wand, my wand and so much death._

"You're doing it for the greater good."

_There is only death. No right, no wrong, just death._

"It's a war, Fabian."

_No justification for death._

"Your children will thank you for it, Gideon."

_Children died. Parents died. _

"Think about what you're fighting for!"

…what did it matter anymore? They no longer cared what their purpose was.

_Here the stone images__  
>Are raised, here they receive<br>The supplication of a dead man's hand  
>Under the twinkle of a fading star.<em>

It was astonishing, Gideon thought, how easily it was to become an icon. A few false promises, a charming personality and some power was all that was needed to gain the mob's love. He saw how Death Eaters praised their master as if he were god, even as they died under his command. Their final whispers were apologies, as if his forgiveness were more important than their flickering candles. Didn't they realise that it was not his breath that would blow them out?

It was no better on the Light side, Fabian realised. Ministers and Aurors came and went, but Dumbledore was the constant. His name was a legend, and some revered it as if simply saying it could forestall their fates. "Dumbledore will save us" and yet his wand was never dirtied. "Dumbledore can defeat You-Know-Who!" but why did he not seek direct confrontation? No, Dumbledore was merely the king piece that fancied himself the board master.

When the brothers first meet Severus Snape, they didn't need to be told he was a spy. It was obvious in his eyes. Eyes they saw in the mirror every day stared back at them from a sallow face and all three knew that disillusionment runs deep.

_In this last of meeting places__  
>We grope together<br>And avoid speech_

There were no words in the silence of their cells. When Fabian woke in the darkness, when Gideon's manacled hands roused him from his dreams, only one thought echoed through each other's minds.

'Finally.'

They are dragged out by masked men and finally see each other, but say nothing.

They are thrown at the feet of the man they had fought for years, but their lips would not part.

As they cursed and jeered by the Death Eaters, their hands find each other but still they do not speak.

_Between the idea__  
>And the reality<br>Falls the Shadow_

It had not been a good life, Gideon decides, and blames it on himself. He had run after a glorious ideal, dedicated himself to a cause, without realising how little impact that would create.

He had offered his wand in service, but some things are not about fighting. He never sought the true change, never found the _real_ Good but only accepted what was dangled in front of him. That, he decides, is the true power of a leader. It did not lie in offering the best sounding speech as he had often assumed, but in taking advantage of people's innate procrastination – their desire to want that which they refuse to create themselves.

He wished he could share this with his brother, but his mouth was immobile. There was no meaning now.

_ Between the emotion  
>And the response<br>Falls the Shadow  
><em>  
>Fabian had stopped caring. It was too much work, all these emotions. He just wanted to curl up and sleep. He wanted the silence to suffocate him. He wanted to be tossed in a hole so dark he would never know if he was alive or dead.<p>

Anything was better than this half-life.

When Voldemort raised his wand, fear touched him only to disappear. He couldn't even muster up the effort to show despair or to move out the way of the green light shooting his way.

Molly would cry. He would not.

_ Between the essence  
>And the descent<br>Falls the Shadow_

When Molly is told her brothers are dead, a part of her sighs in relief. Sure, she cries but her tears are fewer than her husband expected.

Arthur takes her aside that night and tells her it's okay to mourn, that she doesn't need to be strong for him or the children.

Molly tells him her brothers had been dead for a long time. He doesn't understand. She tells him that when a person stops caring, they stop living and Arthur decides to leave her be. His wife will grieve in her own way, he thinks and never does he see that she had grieved for years already. Now was her time to pack away the pain and heal from the years of seeing dead eyes in animated bodies.

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_Not with a bang but a whimper._

When Molly learns He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, she cries.

When her sons and husband join the war, she begins to mourn long before Bill is scarred or Fred dies. For she knows the true cost of war. She knows what pretty words on either side can do to a person, and a part of her prays that her children will find the glorious death they seek.

Better that than dying without a tear.

She should have prayed more, she thinks, because George gets that look in his eyes. Bill gets it when he looks at the moon. Ginny tells her of Harry's withdrawals and when Molly speaks to Hermione, she sees it again. Ron forces cheer in her presence but she knows what the pretence hides. When Percy wallows in shame, Arthur tries to talk him out of it but she understands the futility.

They were corpses who will move and laugh and maybe even cry, but no amount of love will warm them again. They were lost to her, to their families, to this world.

They were hollow men.


End file.
